


Rescuing

by stelladora



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 14:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelladora/pseuds/stelladora
Summary: Deacon and the Sole Survivor (Ava) go undercover as a married couple at a high-class party on a yacht in order to rescue a synth enslaved by the hostess.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I arbitrarily named my vault dweller Ava to avoid calling her Wanderer throughout the story. And I'm sure she and Deacon would use fake first names for a job like this, but I didn't want to over-complicate things.   
> Also I chose to ignore the backstory Deacon gives you when you max out your relationship with him in-game because....it's my story and I can ignore whatever canon elements I please.   
> Enjoy! Leave a comment!

Working with Deacon was always interesting, for better or for worse. He had immediately latched onto Ava—codenamed Wanderer—the mysterious vault-dweller who had made herself indispensable to the Railroad in the last few days. While Deacon was usually jovial to the point of being irritating, he suddenly had a new spring in his step, a new enthusiasm for field work. Wanderer, for her part, seemed amenable to the partnership. The pair had gone out on several missions in the past few days, and despite returning bruised and battered, they always returned. In Desdemona’s eyes, that was all that mattered.

Dez had recently received intel from a dead drop. Word of another synth being exploited as a servant for humans with more money than morals. Deacon and Wanderer were perfect candidates for the rescue job; a lucky break considering how depleted the number of Railroad agents was lately. The pair stumbled in through the back entrance, looking only a little bit worse for wear. Deacon, as usual, immediately started running his mouth.

“Hey, Carrington, you couldn’t have bothered to mention all the security they set up at those apartments? All those turrets—but hey, I tell ya what, Wanderer here took them each out with one shot! Bang-bang-bang right in a row! And the Super Mutants! She didn’t even bat an eye at them, just took a running leap, jumped onto one’s back and shot him point blank, right in the skull—pow!”

“We found a vantage point on the roof next door and threw grenades at them until they quieted down,” Ava said flatly. Deacon shot her a downtrodden look and she smirked.

They got along well, more so than colleagues in the organization usually did. Deacon’s lies had formerly painted himself as the knight in shining armor, accomplishing astounding feats and saving the day. Now Ava got all the glory, even if it was false. Dez kept her speculations to herself, knowing that it was easier not to get involved in her subordinates’ personal lives.

“Either way, we’re all glad to have the two of you back safe,” said Drummer Boy. The recent bad news about Augusta had hit everyone hard; every time an agent went out on assignment, people prepared for a final goodbye. Drummer Boy slung his arm around Deacon’s shoulders, giving him a side-embrace.

“Oh, I’m not a hugger,” Deacon said quickly, sliding out from under Drummer Boy’s arm. “Glad to be back! Although with the frag mines on the road down that way, I almost came back in a few pieces—!”

“When you’re done regaling us, you two, there’s something we need to discuss,” Dez said, heading away from the main room in a way that clearly communicated they were supposed to follow.

“Uh-oh, are we in trouble?” Deacon asked.

“ _We_?” Wanderer muttered teasingly as she followed Dez down the corridor so that the three of them could speak with some semblance of privacy.

“Another potential safehouse need clearing out? You know we just got back, right? Don’t we get any time to rest?” Deacon went on.

“You will. This job needs some preparation, so I thought it would be best to brief the two of you now,” Dez explained patiently. “You two will be going undercover.”

Deacon’s face lit up. Wanderer looked momentarily surprised, then composed herself. “What’s the story?” she asked.

“Bernadette Durdin, a member of a certain wealthy family from the Capital Wasteland, is hosting a weekend-long party on her yacht, which will arrive in the bay southeast of here tomorrow afternoon. You two will infiltrate the event and smuggle out WES-38, a synth Durdin has enslaved. But—and this is crucial—I don’t want any bloodshed. We cannot afford any heat with any of the major players in the Capital; I don’t want a feud on our hands. You go in with fake identities and you find a way to bring Wes back onshore and get her to the rendezvous point _quietly_. Understood?”

“This woman has a _yacht_? What, does she spend her summers cruising to the best irradiated vacation spots?” Ava asked incredulously.

“Typical. Rich people just don’t know how to spend their money. Other than buying up slaves,” Deacon snarked.

“And our disguises—who are we?” Ava asked.

Desdemona continued, “The event was discussed among the Commonwealth’s elite circles—”

“Really? What a shock I didn’t hear about it.”

“—and was considered open invitation,” Dez went on, ignoring Deacon. “One of our contacts passed this information on to us, and I was able to RSVP for two people. Now…to ensure that the two of you would be able to talk and spend time together without arousing suspicion, you’re going to be posing as husband and wife.” She paused, gauging their reactions.

Deacon just laughed. “Seriously? My my, this is all so sudden.”

Ava kept her face carefully blank. Married? She was already married. Or…used to be. Suddenly the ring on her finger felt much heavier: a delicate golden reminder of Nate, of their life together, of all she had lost. She took a deep breath, reasoning with herself. This was just a job; it would be over in a few days. She wasn’t replacing Nate.

“Wanderer? Everything alright? I can get someone else if—”

“I’m fine. Just a lot to process, that’s all,” Ava said with a small smile. Everything would be fine, she just had to focus on the mission.

“It won’t be that bad,” Deacon assured her, his cheerful tone smoothing over the situation. Most people at the Railroad had a vague idea of Wanderer’s past, and after traveling together so much, Deacon knew a lot more. He was excellent at playing roles by himself, but it would take someone special as a partner to pull off something like this. And from the first time he’d heard of the vault-dweller-turned-Minutemen-General, he’d known she was something special.

“Yeah, maybe married life will make you settle down a little,” Ava nudged him gently. She was still uneasy about the whole affair; Dez had been right to tell them a day in advance.

“Well, you’re now Mr. and Mrs. Lattimore. Keep your story simple,” Dez said with a pointed glance at Deacon, “and focus on rescuing Wes. There’s a folder with what little intel we have in the back corridor, along with your supplies and clothes.”

“Clothes?” Ava asked.

“You need to look the part. I don’t think the ruse would last very long if you showed up in your vault suit,” Dez pointed out. “And remember: once you’re onboard the boat, you two are on your own. It’s too risky to stay in contact, someone might overhear. Wes knows our sign and countersign, so be discrete.”

“Got it, boss,” Deacon said. “But are you sure the no-kill rule is non-negotiable?” Dez gave him a stern look and returned to her desk. “Well,” Deacon turned to Ava, then hesitated a second. With the sunglasses (why did he wear those indoors?) she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a flicker of worry in his face. “You’re really okay with this? Honest, we can get someone else if you want. I know Drummer Boy would like to do some field work—”

“I’m fine, Deacon, really,” Ava assured him. This wasn’t the place to discuss how she was really feeling—she didn’t even understand it herself. With the cryo pods, it felt like the whole event—the murder, the kidnapping—had taken place so recently. And since then she’d been running nonstop, always on a mission, always busy. She hadn’t mourned. But there would be time to think of all that later, once this whole thing was put to rest and she was safe with her son, wherever they chose to make their new home. “And let’s face it, you’d be lost without me, wouldn’t you?” she teased.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

 

There were preparations to make, briefings to go over, and the night patrol shift to walk. Ava and one of the other agents scanned the broken streets in the dark, moving in silence and listening for any approaching footsteps. Ava tried not to let her mind wander—it felt like only two short months ago her biggest worries were childcare and grocery shopping. Now she was huddled in an abandoned building holding a rifle, listening for the approach of Super Mutants. She gave a signal to the other agent and moved on, resolving not to think about things like that too much. The past was irrevocable. They were met by other Railroad agents a few hours later, and the patrol changed shifts. Back at HQ, Ava lay down on a mattress in the back corridor, grateful for a safe place to rest.

That afternoon came on quickly. She washed up and changed into the red dress that had been provided for her, and put up her hair using as many bobby pins as she could, knowing they could come in handy. She strapped a pistol to her thigh, unwilling to go in without some sort of protection, despite Dez’s warnings of stealth. She had considered trying to hide some explosives in her bra, but that turned out to be unfeasible. It had been a long time since she’d been this clean and well-dressed. It was a necessary part of the disguise, but it made her feel out of place and self-conscious in such dingy surroundings. After one last glance in the mirror, Ava left the washroom and searched around HQ for Deacon, who she’d barely seen all day.

She had to double-take when she saw him. His black hair was impeccably styled, he was clean-shaven and wearing an elegant black suit. He was standing up straight, his posture seeming to say that he owned the whole world. His eyes, free from the sunglasses, were especially captivating. A slow smile spread across his face when he saw her. “You’re beautiful,” he said with a simple honesty that caught Ava off guard.

“Oh. Thank you,” she said, a little embarrassed. _He’s just getting into the role_ , she reminded herself. “You look nice too. Should we get going?”

They said a quick goodbye to the people at HQ and set off for the docks, where a boat was waiting to shuttle them to Bernadette Durdin’s yacht, the Saint Anne, an old but still impressive-looking vessel waiting out in the bay. Deacon held their suitcase, filled with various items to keep up the ruse of a young wealthy couple going out for a weekend getaway.

The rowboat waiting for them was occupied by a middle-aged woman wearing a patched suit. She sat up a little straighter when she caught sight of the pair. “Hello, are you Mr. and Mrs. Lattimore?” she asked in a high-pitched and nasal voice. “I’m here to escort you to the Saint Anne,” she continued without waiting for a response.

“Excellent,” Deacon said, passing her the suitcase and gingerly stepping into the rowboat. “Oh my, the water here looks absolutely dreadful. Are you sure it’s safe? Do you have a Geiger counter?”

“I assure you, that’s not necessary. Mrs. Durdin has taken great pains to ensure the security of her guests,” the woman said with a tight smile.

Deacon held out a hand to help Ava into the boat ( _what a gentleman I’ve married_ , Ava thought) and gave her hand a quick, tight squeeze. She already understood what he wanted to communicate: she hadn’t given the countersign, so this woman wasn’t Wes, the synth they were searching for, nor was she a member of the Railroad. As the woman began rowing them away from the dock, they were leaving behind all potential help.

“Has she? That certainly is a relief,” Ava said, “I must admit, with all the news of raiders taking over settlements lately, safety has become quite a luxury. I assume Mrs. Durdin has guards?”

“Oh yes,” the woman said as she rowed. Ava ignored her instinct to offer help, knowing it wouldn’t fit the role she was playing. “A handful of guards, patrolling the deck in shifts. I doubt anyone… _undesirable_ could get onboard, mind you. While we’re at sea, there’s only one entry point, the lifeboat launch. There’s a guard there at all hours.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Deacon, lying through his teeth. He patted Ava’s hand, impressed at the shrewd line of questioning. They still had to be wary, of course, but the extra information would certainly come in handy when it was time for them to sneak Wes off the yacht.

The rest of the ride passed uneventfully, and soon the rowboat was sliding into a lift attached to the side of the Saint Anne. The small vessel was pulled up to one of the lower decks at the stern of the yacht, and Ava and Deacon could see that the disembarking area was indeed staffed by two guards, wearing suits and weapon holsters. There was an older woman present, wearing an expensive-looking black dress and a haughty expression.

“Good evening, welcome aboard the Saint Anne. I’m Bernadette Durdin,” she said as Ava and Deacon stepped out of the rowboat.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Deacon Lattimore,” he said, extending his hand to her. “This is my wife Ava.”

“Hello. Thank you so much for having us,” Ava said politely.

“Oh, the pleasure is mine. I adore hosting these little fêtes, but having the same company every time does get boring, you know. Always a pleasure to meet someone new, provided they’re the right sort,” Bernadette said, tight-lipped and giving the two of them a glance-over as if to ascertain that they were indeed ‘the right sort.’ Evidently they passed the muster, because she gave a little clap of her hands and proceed. “Well, we’re still waiting on Miss Zheng, but the others have gathered in the grand foyer to mingle a bit before dinner. Ulric will take your case to your room, you’ll be in cabin three. Would you care to follow me, and we’ll join the others?”

The yacht seemed to have been untouched by the war. The cleanliness was what shocked Ava the most: though the furnishings were modest, everything was tidy and polished until it gleamed. They entered the foyer and Bernadette paused with a satisfied smile, giving them a moment to take it all in. The walls were white with gold trim, the hardwood floors were solid and even, and the large staircase leading, presumably, to the sleeping cabins was covered with a lush, delicately patterned carpet. The room was lit by a chandelier, modest by pre-war standards but elaborate given the circumstances. Ava could hardly believe the place was real, and that just an hour ago she’d been stepping over bloody rubble.

There were only a few other guests gathered in the foyer. One older couple turned their gaze on Ava and Deacon and approached them as Bernadette slipped away to chat with someone else. “Hello, darlings, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Yrda Ridgarsen,” said the older of the two women. “This is my wife, Shenaz. Are you new friends of Bernadette’s?”

“Lovely to meet you,” Ava said. “I’m Ava Lattimore, and this is Deacon, my husband. We’ve only just met Mrs. Durdin, actually. We heard of the open invitation and it just sounded wonderful. What a stunning room this is.” Ava looked around again, trying surreptitiously to get an idea of the layout of the yacht.

“Yes, isn’t it. Bernadette certainly knows how to entertain. We’ve been her guests at her home, back in the Capital. How is life here in the Commonwealth? The stories we’ve heard, just ghastly,” Yrda went on conspiratorially.

“Yes, the place has been all but forsaken by anyone civilized,” Deacon sighed. “You can barely go out without encountering one of those horrible bands of raiders—or worse,” he said pointedly. “We’ve talked about moving away, perhaps going west before things here get too dire. We’ve been lucky so far, but…” Deacon linked his left arm with Ava’s right, giving her a concerned look and selling the tender moment.

“I understand. There’s just no value placed in civility and decorum these days,” Yrda said with a shake of her head.

“Mr. Lattimore, you don’t wear your ring?” Shenaz asked, speaking for the first time. She was soft-spoken, but her brown eyes implied a certain shrewdness. The comment caught Deacon off guard, and he looked down at his left hand, which was indeed missing a wedding ring.

There was a second’s pause, then Ava laughed. “He’s always losing it. I eventually got so fed up with searching for it that I suggested we keep it in my jewelry box at home.” Deacon squeezed her arm imperceptibly, evidently grateful for the quick save.

Shenaz shook her head. “Typical men. Very irresponsible. My second husband, for instance—”

“Oh let’s not spoil the evening by talking about Rodrigo,” Yrda cut in. “Ah, there’s Miss Zheng. Excuse me, you two, but we simply _must_ go say hello. I’m sure we’ll talk soon. Li, darling!”

“Wonderful to meet you,” Deacon said as the two older women moved away. He gently pulled his arm away from Ava’s. “This place sure is something,” he said to her.

“That’s an understatement. We should go meet everyone else,” Ava said, thinking back to the parties she’d attended two hundred years ago. No one liked the couple who kept to themselves all night.

They made the rounds and introduced themselves to the others. Along with Bernadette and the Ridgarsens, there was a woman in her mid-forties named Amalia accompanied by her boyfriend, a boy called Fisher who looked not much older than 18. The last to arrive was Li Zheng, who was apparently a caravan owner visiting from out west. She was acquainted with everyone in attendance except for Ava and Deacon, who were both struck by her suave demeanor and vicious beauty. Soon after introductions and mindless chit-chat, a girl—probably around 16—in the same sort of suit worn by the guards and rowboat woman entered the room and cleared her throat delicately.

“Excuse me. Dinner is served. If you would all like to proceed to the dining room,” she said, gesturing through a set of double doors to the right of the staircase. A large rectangular table could be seen, set for eight.

“Thank you, WES-38. This way, everyone,” Bernadette said, leading the way.

Deacon and Ava exchanged glances; neither had known their target would be so young. Both of them hung back, politely letting the others move ahead of them. “Excuse me,” Deacon said quietly to Wes, who was still standing near the door. “I’m afraid personal experience has left me overly cautious when it comes to radiation—do you have a Geiger counter?”

A shiver of surprise ran through Wes’ face. “Mine’s in the shop,” she said tensely.

Deacon smiled at her. “That’s alright. I’m sure everything will be okay,” he said pointedly before heading into the dining room.

Dinner was, for lack of a better word, boring. Bernadette, in an effort to encourage discussion, had created a seating chart that ensured none of the couples were next to one another. Deacon was to Bernadette’s left, near the head of the table. Next to him was Li, who after some prompting told a few stories of her time travelling with her caravan.

“Well now, it certainly sounds like dangerous work,” Deacon said after hearing a story of a gunfight with some radscorpions. “All that adventuring and sightseeing may be nice, but I would never be able to hold my own in a fight like that!”

“It’s amazing what hidden capabilities people have. I’m sure you’d surprise yourself if you ever found your life on the line like that,” Li said.

“Surprise myself by how fast I can run, maybe,” Deacon joked. Those around him laughed.

Ava was sitting on the other side of the table, in the last seat on the right side. Next to her was Fisher, the young man. He had a faraway look in his eye and barely said a word all through the meal. For the most part the conversation throughout dinner was vacuous, concerned with high-society gossip from the capital. Wes was one of the servers, however, and Ava was glad to not be distracted by excessive conversation. She was trying to think of a way for the three of them to talk privately when Wes came around to clear away her plate. As she took the dish away, she dropped a tightly folded piece of paper into Ava’s lap. Ava, not wanting to attract any attention, left it where it was until Bernadette suggested they all move to the library for after-dinner drinks. While everyone was getting up from the table, Ava pretended to brush something from the front of her dress, slipping the paper into her bra as she did so. She would have to wait until she and Deacon were in their cabin to read the note.

The library was evidently used more for gathering than for reading; there were two bookshelves with a rather sparse selection of books. The room was mostly taken up by a small bar, two sofas, and an armchair. There was just enough room for their large party. Deacon, already seated on one of the sofas, reached his hand out to Ava as she entered the room. She held it as she sat, playing the part of a loving wife. It came easily to her with Deacon; the two of them were close after spending so much time together doing field work. It was as if, when they first met, they had implicitly understood one another on some deep level. They were the best pair for this assignment, Ava was certain about that.

“Aren’t you two precious,” said Amalia from across the small room. She had a gravelly voice, presumably from years of smoking. “How long have you been married?”

Deacon and Ava looked at each other, not wanting to give different answers. “Just shy of three years,” Ava said, smiling at Deacon.

“And she’s not sick of me yet,” Deacon said with a laugh.

The group laughed along with him. “Would anyone like a drink? Wes, get me a martini,” Bernadette commanded.


	2. Chapter 2

Deacon was in his element. Everyone at the Railroad knew what an adept liar he was, and he was the first to agree with them, but this was unprecedented. Throughout the evening he shared stories of his life as the owner of an ammunitions company (“I don’t know much about their _practical_ use, mind you, but I’ve gotten to know the business side of things!”). He discussed trade and distribution, clientele and employees with absolute authority, using jargon he’d picked up from years of scavenging through dilapidated old warehouses and offices. It thrilled him, as always, to watch people fall for his lies, to feel himself skating by undetected. To be someone new.

It was late before the guests began to stifle yawns and murmur of bed. Finally, noticing Fisher had fallen asleep where he sat, Amalia suggested they disband for the night. Everyone made their way to their cabins. The one Deacon and Ava had been assigned was near the front of a long corridor. There was a window with its red curtains drawn, preventing guests from catching sight of the dirty harbor. The duvet on the bed (there was only one, of course) was red also, as was the carpet and the upholstery of the armchair by the door. Deacon wasn’t sure whether the decorators were going for romantic or bloody. But those weren’t mutually exclusive, he conceded.

As he and Ava entered, the first thing he did was search the room, looking for any sort of device that may be watching or listening. It didn’t seem likely, given the circumstances, but he liked to be sure. Ava noticed what he was doing and joined in, keeping silent until both of them gave up, empty-handed.

“Well? What do you think?” Deacon asked her. “Pretty swanky boat. And these people are…something else.”

“Definitely. Did you know she’d be so young?” Ava asked, referring to Wes. “She slipped me a note at dinner, but we’re going to have to find a more secure way of communicating.” The folded note was still in her bra, and Ava pulled it out, eager to find out what it said. To her dismay, all that was written there was two lines of random letters, one line on top of the other. She frowned and showed it to Deacon. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Deacon took the paper and scrutinized it for a moment, then raised his eyebrows. “It’s a kind of code. This kid’s smart,” he said, impressed.

“How does she know what codes the Railroad uses? I thought she’d just been told the Geiger counter sign, and that we’d be coming for her.”

“That _is_ all she was told. She probably just wants to be careful, and I don’t blame her. Or she’s testing us,” Deacon guessed. He turned his attention back to the strings of letters. “Look, this one’s pretty simple. You start with the first letter on the bottom row, then move to the second letter on the top row. Then the third on the bottom, and so on. The leftover letters don’t matter, they’re just a distraction. So that spells out... ‘cargo hold locker four.’”

“Is that all it says?” Ava asked, looking at the paper for herself. It was indeed a short message, and somewhat cryptic. “What do you think is in the locker?”

“Only one way to find out,” Deacon said with a smile. “Let’s get going.”

“What are we going to say if someone sees us down in the cargo hold? I don’t get the impression that it’s open to guests,” Ava pointed out.

“We got lost? Wanted to explore? Searching for pirate treasure?” Deacon suggested.

Ava rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. No matter how much stress they were under, Deacon was always ready to make a joke. Most of the time they were groan-worthy, it’s true, but she appreciated the attempt at levity. “I think not getting caught is our best bet,” she suggested.

The two made their way quietly out of their cabin and down the hall, searching for the service staircase that would take them below. Ava was the one who noticed it; a panel of the wall slid aside and revealed a passage for the crew. She’d only noticed it because it hadn’t been pulled all the way shut. Inside, the stairwell was dark and narrow, much different from the spacious surroundings meant for the elite passengers.

The late hour worked in their favor; the majority of the staff were asleep in their bunkrooms. Only once did they need to creep past an open door, keeping out of the inhabitant’s eyesight. There were no signs pointing the way to the cargo hold, but eventually, after turning back from two different dead ends, they found another staircase leading even lower into the yacht, below the water line.

It was even darker here, and their footfalls seemed deafening as they echoed on the metal floor. After waiting a moment for their eyes to adjust to the light, Ava and Deacon proceeded down the hall and eventually found a large room filled with crates and lined with huge lockers. They found number four, and Deacon reached for the handle. It was locked tight and wouldn’t turn, and he groaned quietly. Ava nudged him out of the way, reaching into her hair for one of her bobby pins. It was much more difficult to try and pick the lock in the dark; she broke the first bobby pin and scowled, reaching for another one.

At that moment, footsteps resounded down the hall, coming from the stairs. The light in that direction was turned on as well: someone was coming. Ava’s heart began to pound in her chest, and she felt around with the pin and screwdriver as quick as she could while still being gentle enough to not waste more time breaking pins.

Two voices drifted down the hall, speaking too low for Ava or Deacon to discern what they were saying. Deacon began scanning the room, looking for other exits. To his dismay, the only door was the one they entered from. They could hide behind the crates, but if the incomers turned on a light or walked around too much— As he tried to formulate a plan, Deacon heard a soft click, then felt Ava grip his wrist tightly. She pulled him into the locker behind her and shut the door softly only a moment before the two people entered the room and flicked on the lights.

The locker was larger than standard ones, but definitely not meant for two grown adults to stand inside. Ava and Deacon didn’t move a muscle, afraid that the creak of the metal would betray them. With her hand still around Deacon’s wrist, Ava could feel his pulse racing just as fast as hers. The two barely breathed, recognizing one of the voices now that it was closer.

“I don’t want excuses, Martin, you know that,” said Bernadette, her voice icy cold. “Who is the head chef of the Saint Anne?”

“I am, ma’am,” came a man’s voice.

“And as such, are you not responsible for the quality of the food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bernadette asked, walking still further into the room. The footsteps stopped only a few feet from locker four, making both Ava and Deacon hold their breath. There came the sound of a key in a lock, and Bernadette removed something from the nearby locker. “And so when something is wrong, as that dismal roast was this evening, are you supposed to complain about the quality of ingredients, or are you supposed to take responsibility for your mistake?”

Martin hesitated. “It was my fault, ma’am, I apologize. It won’t happen again,” he said quietly, a tremor in his voice.

“I know. Turn around,” Bernadette ordered.

The crack of a whip resounded through the cargo hold.

Both Deacon and Ava flinched involuntarily, unprepared for what they heard. But they remained still, Ava biting her lip to keep from making any noise as the sound of leather hitting flesh rang through the room four more times.

“There. I trust you won’t have another such lapse,” Bernadette said, her voice genteel again as she returned the whip to the locker. “Remember, everything on board this vessel reflects on _me_. I will not give my guests any reason to disdain me as a hostess. And if you continue to tarnish my reputation like this, you will wish that your only punishment was the lash. Good night,” she said with a haughty finality.

Bernadette’s heels clicked on the floor as she went upstairs. They could hear Martin take a few shaky breaths before muttering “fucking bitch” and leaving the cargo hold as well, turning off the lights as he left. Ava and Deacon waited a few more moments, just to be certain, then lifted the latch on the inside of the locker and stepped out.

“She beats her employees!” Ava said, her voice little louder than an exhale.

“Well, the roast was a little dry,” Deacon said. Ava rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the locker. Inside were two black suits like the ones the staff wore, a little crumpled from being stepped on. There was also a note, but the lack of light made it impossible to read. “Come on. We need to get back to our room,” Deacon said as he gathered the items Wes had left them. Ava agreed; she’d had enough sneaking around for one night.

They moved swiftly and were soon back in the corridor of guest cabins. A few rooms had light spilling out from beneath the doors, but mercifully no one stopped them.

It was nice to be back in the warm red glow of their private cabin. It was the only place onboard where they could talk freely, and Deacon felt a measure of safety there. Only a small measure, though—he knew better than to let his guard down. He placed the suits inside the bureau and pulled the note out from his jacket pocket.

“Is this one in code too?” Ava asked, sitting down on the end of the bed. She was shocked at how soft it was, then remembered that she’d been spending many of her nights on bare mattresses or the ground. Any bed would seem luxurious in comparison.

“No. Apparently we’ve earned Wes’ trust,” Deacon said.

“Or maybe she’s getting desperate. I wouldn’t blame her, given what we just saw,” Ava pointed out. “What does it say?”

“’Sneak away after dinner tomorrow night. I’ll meet you in your room. Dani will be guarding the lifeboat launch from 8:35 to 10:05. She’s gullible, and I can convince her you’re two new hires going on a supply run with me,’” Deacon read. “I hope for our sake this Dani is a real dolt,” he muttered. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand why the Railroad needs secrecy and discretion and all that, but I wish we’d been briefed on this job sooner so that we could make a plan that actually has a chance of working.” With a sigh, he handed Ava the note and sunk down into the armchair across the room.

There was nothing else on the note, and after one more read-through, Ava began tearing it into tiny pieces. “It’ll work,” she said simply, getting up and crossing to the window to open it and scatter the evidence of their plan into the murky water.

There was a pause, as if Deacon was expecting her to say more. “Nice pep talk. What makes you so sure?”

Ava smirked at him as she began to undo her hair and set the bobby pins in a pile on the bureau. “If there’s anyone I trust to talk his way out of a dangerous situation, it’s you,” she pointed out.

Deacon smiled at that. “Good point. And if there’s anyone I trust to knock someone unconscious if things go awry, it’s _you_ ,” he said, removing his tie. The two turned away from each other, each changing for bed.

“We’re quite a team,” Ava laughed.

“Yeah, we are. I mean, ever since—” Deacon faltered, still facing the wall.

“What?” Ava’s voice prompted him from behind.

“Ever since I first heard about you, I was impressed,” he admitted, slipping on the pajama bottoms that had been provided for Mr. Lattimore in the suitcase. The weird matching collared shirt ( _where_ did Desdemona get this stuff?) looked uncomfortable, so he didn’t bother with it. “I’m glad I get to work with you, that’s all,” he added. It was much easier to say this while facing the wall. Honest sentiments like that made his stomach twist into knots.

“I’m glad too, Deacon. Whether you’re telling the truth or not, I want you to know that,” Ava said with a smile in her voice.

Deacon whirled around, a note of hurt in his voice. “Look, I know I lie all the time, and I understand why you wouldn’t believe me. I’ve…I’ve tried to trick you a few times, and that was wrong of me, I know that, and I hate that I did it because now, when it really matters, I know you won’t believe me. And I deserve that,” he said in a rush. “But I’d do anything to convince you that meeting you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I value our friendship more than anything else in the whole world.”

Ava had seen Deacon trying to sell a lie before. He did whatever was necessary, put any emotion behind it. But she’d never heard this sort of desperation in his voice, or seen his eyes pleading like this. A moment passed while she stared at him, processing what she’d heard. In that moment, Deacon lost his nerve, suddenly embarrassed that he’d laid his heart bare like that.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s just go to sleep, yeah?” Without waiting for an answer he flicked off the lights, filling the room with darkness and preventing Ava from seeing the blush that had risen to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “You can have the bed,” he said, sitting back down in the armchair.

“Deacon,” Ava said gently. She knew he was embarrassed, and knew her stunned silence probably hadn’t helped matters. But she couldn’t possibly let the conversation end there. “Come here.” She held her hand out to him and waited until he stood timidly and crossed the room, taking her hand. “I…I woke up in that vault and found my whole world gone. All the people I knew, my whole way of life was taken from me. And I didn’t think I could ever feel normal, or safe, or at home again,” she said, her voice tight. “But I feel at home with you.”

Ava exhaled shakily. Deacon fought his instinct to make a joke, to poke fun at the situation in order to build up his walls again and shut himself off from emotion. Being honest was new to him, and he hated how difficult he found it.

“I’m glad,” he whispered, giving her hand a light squeeze.

Even in the dark, he could see Ava smile. “Good. Now, come on, the bed’s big enough for both of us.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“It’s fine. We’re married, after all.”


End file.
